Ana Baibbak
by seductivefeline
Summary: Eight year old Bakura and his brother are in Egypt for their father's work. One day he's suddenly robbed by a strange Egyptian boy, and after Bakura chases him down, their relationship takes a curious turn... young!thiefshipping.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **I haven't uploaded a fanfiction in quite a while... and who knew my newest one would be Yu-Gi-Oh? Anyway, this fic is an AU that takes place in modern Egypt. Both Bakura and Marik are eight or so in this fanfic, so don't expect any sexual scenes (that would be rather awkward to write!)

**Summary: **Eight year old Bakura and his brother are in Egypt for their father's work. One day he's suddenly robbed by a strange Egyptian boy, and after Bakura chases him down, their relationship takes a curious turn... young!Bakura/Marik.

**Name: **_Ana Baibbak_

**Fandom: **Yu-Gi-Oh!

**Ship(s): **Yami Bakura/Marik Ishtar

**Trigger warnings: **This brings up some _intense_ _bullying_ as well as _parental abuse._ It will also contain _slurs_, (like 'faggot'), and will also _possibly_ contain a _character death._ You've been warned.

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Ana Ba****ibbak**

The air was equivalent to the heat and intensity of an oven. The cloudless , blue sky hung overhead, the expansion broken only by the yellow disk that hung halfway up the sky. It made everything very hot and very sticky, despite the sandy winds that picked up every so often. However, this was a normality for the region, and everyone went about their daily dues. Bustling through the trodden streets, ignoring the whipping sand and blazing sun.

How anybody could ignore such an inconvenience was beyond the boy as he lifted an arm to rid his brow of collecting sweat. His wild bangs stuck to his forehead like glue, no matter how many times he flicked the strands away. They remained plastered to his face, much like his permanent frown.

His long hair didn't help, but cutting it would surely be too much work. His unkempt, white locks spilled around his shoulders and around his face, covering most of it. It was convenient for only one thing in this weather: it kept him from getting sunburned in the face, which was likely a good thing considering his pale complexion. His skin was that of a ghost, and only a few minutes in the intense Egyptian sun would likely lead to major burns.

Not like he needed to be out in the sun, anyway. The dulled yellow tent was a perfect place to hide. It provided shade and an ice bucket full of sugary drinks and water. Presently, he sipped one of the juice boxes he had retrieved from within the cooler. It was a strange, foreign juice that tasted odd to him, but it satisfied his intense thirst. He set it down among the couple of blankets he rested on before returning to his book.

As he read the morning away, a lookalike of himself shuffled into the tent, kicking up sand in his wake. His counterpart who had been sitting among the blankets ignored the intruder, but not for long.

A whining voice piped up from the new-comer. "Come_ onnn_," he droned, "I want to do something."

"Then do something." He replied dully, taking another sip of juice, internally cursing the convenient yet juvenile boxed container.

"It's borin' without you, and Dad said we can't leave alone. Come with me to see the other tents or something?" He persisted, crouching down next to the other.

He huffed, "I don't want to leave. It's hot, and I'm doing things."

A dejected look came over his face. "Please... Bakura?"

The boy with the book, named Bakura, finally looked over at his twin, a pitifully pained look in his eyes. His brother didn't make a habit out of complaining or begging for things, it simply wasn't in his nature, but whenever he did, Bakura didn't want any of it.

"I am busy, Ryou." He stated flatly. Despite being young, he was remarkably serious. His brown eyes narrowed before he turned them back to his book.

Ryou sighed, accepting defeat. He plopped down on the blanket and shuffled next to Bakura. He peered over his shoulder curiously to see what his brother was reading, but the words were a mystery to him. While they were close in age, the elder was several grades more advanced. He spent a large portion of his time reading, having little interest in much else. When his brother attempted to read over his shoulder, he shielded his book away with an annoyed grunt. Like Ryou would be able to understand what was going on in the book anyway...

The boy groaned and flopped back, wishing he hadn't left his Gameboy in the hotel room.

The two boys were stuck in the tent while their father was off working at the near excavation site. The small family had come to Egypt for a vacation of sorts. Their father hoped that the trip would help their mother become healthier, while he wished to pursue his career. The two boys were left to their devices while their mother remained in the hotel room most of the day, and their father eagerly dived into the work of excavation.

Much to Ryou's disdain, children weren't allowed to view the happenings, so they had to remain in one of the tents.

Bakura, however, remained entertained so long as he had something to do, but after a few hours, he came to the end of his book. By then, Ryou had fallen into a light sleep holding a soda. Bakura plopped the book on the ground, suddenly feeling the boredom crash down on him. Unlike Ryou, he could not simply sleep the boredom away. He needed action.

He stood up, his limbs feeling tight after sitting in one place so long. He ignored it and prodded his brother with the tip of his red sneaker. "Get up."

Ryou was startled from his nap, spilling soda everywhere. He glanced around at the mess, worried, "What is it, Brother?"

"I'm bored." He stated, "C'mon." The white-haired boy turned stiffly and exited the tent.

Outside it felt just as hot, and the wind kicked up the dust. His narrowed his eyes and looked around. There were several other tents around. People dressed in tan clothes milled around, murmuring to themselves and exchanging pleasantries. Bakura huffed and quickly skirted the tent, avoiding them. Ryou quickly followed, whispering at his brother, "Where are we goin'?"

Bakura shushed him with a glare before continuing. The two moved in between the tents, keeping low and avoiding adults. When they were safely hiding behind a parked truck, Ryou spoke up again. "Where are we goin'? Why are we being so sneaky?"

The boy looked at his brother with wide eyes as he asked.

"You said you wanted something to do. We're leaving the camp." Bakura replied, his lips going up in a grin.

Ryou frowned. "We will get in trouble with Dad."

"Only if he catches us." His brother smartly returned, smiling darkly at his own eight-year-old logic.

"And if he does?"

"He won't."

"Why not?"

Bakura, who was keeping an eye out, finally locked eyes with his brother. "We will only be gone for a couple hours. We will get back before it gets dark. Then he will never know we left."

Ryou shuffled his feet in the dirt, unsure of the logic. He got loused up in Bakura's ideas way too often for his own good, but like a good younger twin, he followed obediently as the elder darted out and rushed away.

The two headed for the nearby town. It wasn't far, and seemed more like a village than any kind of town. Ryou grew cautious as as they headed down the dusty street. People began to show up, and soon, the walkways were covered in people. The younger of the brothers grew weary and grasped for Bakura's hand, who grumpily pulled it away.

He kept a cool gaze as he searched the pale brown and white buildings that seemed to be made of stone or clay. They were expertly crafted, and were certainly made with modern amenities. Bakura had no idea though, for their father only had taken them to two places in town: the hotel, and a small restaurant next to the hotel, and both were very far away.

Or at least the elder twin guessed. He actually had no idea, but nobody needed to know that.

As people passed them, many gave them funny looks. They certainly looked strange, and definitely foreign. Ryou's hair was long, but Baura's was longer, and wilder. It was also pale white, much like their father's and mother's. While Ryou had brown eyes, Bakura's had a tinge of ember, making them look red in certain light. Many mistook him for an albino.

Their skin was pale white, as if they had never seen the sun before. Around them, many people had dark, tanned skin, and darker hair. They wore clothes that were perfect for the weather, while the boys wore summer outfits. Bakura wore a dark t-shirt and jean shorts, while Ryou wore a striped shirt and tan shorts. Their paper skin wouldn't stand a chance, Bakura soon realized, so he pulled Ryou down a street with shade.

They soon found themselves in a Bazaar. This was certainly an unfamiliar place, Bakura found himself thinking as he gazed around. Stands with shouting men lined up along the street, and people milled in front of the stands, sometimes shouting back. Each stand had different kind of products, from food to home-made items, trinkets and so-on.

And they all spoke another language. Ryou looked dazed and confused by the sudden barrage of new senses. New smells, new sounds, new sights. It was a lot to take in, and for once, Bakura didn't shield away when the younger gripped his hand. Together they investigated the new place. Even Bakura found himself to be curious as he looked over the side of a stand to see people cooking beyond it.

Giant fryers stood with greasy looking cooks as they fried up an array of meat and vegetables. Their stomachs growled as the greasy cook finished frying the food and put it in a container for the awaiting customer.

"Bakura, I'm hungry." Ryou stated upon the sight of food.

Bakura figured, and he didn't reply. He had some money in his back pocket, tucked away in a marble bag. He absentmindedly gripped his brother's hand tighter and lead him away from the stand.

"We'll find some place to eat," he replied gruffly as they maneuvered through the crowd.

Ryou nodded eagerly and let himself be lead along. The two were still soaking in the new sights and smells, but the more food they saw, the hungrier they got. Finally, Bakura pulled them both aside and pulled out the marble bag.

"Let's see if there's enough in here..." he mumbled to himself as he opened the bag and dug around. There were a lot of coins, and a few bills. His father had given him some money from the region – mostly as a keepsake – but Bakura saw no point in keeping money he couldn't use. He was prepared to take it out and find a food stand that wasn't so crowded when –

- a flash came from nowhere, and he found himself being thrown to the ground. The marble bag slipped – or was rather, grabbed – from his grasp as he tumbled to the dust. He growled as he peeled open his eyes and watched as a shape darted away into the crowds.

"Hey!" The boy snarled, furious. He darted up, racing after the shape, "Get back here!"

"Bakura!" Ryou shouted after the elder twin, shocked from what had happened.

"Stay there, Ryou!" Came a voice from the crowd. Letting out a stifling whimper, Ryou shrunk back and sat down in the little area between a couple of stands.


	2. Chapter 2

_It was like taking candy from a child._

He left the confines of his house early that morning, before the sun scorched the narrow alleyways, where he normally tucked himself way. He slid expertly between the narrow cracks of the buildings until he came to a halt. He had come to the nearby marketplace, one that was always bustling. Even in the early hours of the morning, people scooted around, searching for potential deals.

Here was where the young boy spent much of his time. When he wasn't exploring the boring dunes near the excavation site, he was slipping in between crowds to see what he could get.

His clothes were simple – he wore a light-colored shirt that hung down to his elbows and past his pant-line. It wasn't dirty, but it showed wear and tear. His shorts stopped right at the knee, and his sandals were falling apart. His skin was very tan, showing he had grown up in Egypt's very hot climate. However, his pale golden hair resembled straw as it hung in front of his face, shielding his abnormal eyes.

He slid out from the dirty alleyway and melted into the crowds. He was eyed suspiciously by many people who walked by. Many knew who his kind and would not tolerate thieving, or anything of the like.

However, he kept his eyes trained forward, never making eye contact with the suspicious adults. He arched his back, and made himself look as sullen as possible. While this didn't work for the locals, it worked for any tourists. They either sympathized him, or assumed he was little threat. Their mistake, he supposed, as he flipped his hair out of his lavender eyes. How he ended up with such a silly eye color was beyond him, but it caused him to be the mockery of the other boys his age.

He scanned the crowds, pulling himself out of his thoughts. The tanned boy spotted a man in a tan uniform usually worn by the foreigners that worked out in the dunes digging up strange old artifacts. He knew they were easy to fool, though some of the unsympathetic ones or the older ones could see through his trickery. The boy tested the waters and began following the man. He seemed unaware, and continued striding confidently until he came to a food stand. The cooks in the back began frying up the order the man had given them in broken Arabic.

The boy stared curiously before edging his way forward, his clothing blending into the ones around him. The man's wallet was protruding from his back pocket, practically begging to be snatched.

"Eh – ay'!" A fatal error. A man behind the stand noticed him, and recognized him. The boy drew back as if he'd been burned; suddenly all attention was on him. "You there, _haraami_! Move along!" The cook behind the stands shouted, his voice snarling.

The foreigner whipped around, saw the boy, and glowered at the prospect that he had almost been stolen from. He growled something in English that the boy didn't understand, but the vicious tone told him more than he needed to know, and he scurried away, melting into the crowds once more.

It was a novice mistake, but mistakes were made, and he had to move on. For the time being, he found a crate to sit on and he watched people pass by as the day went on. Tourists were slim today, and perhaps the boy would need to look for entertainment elsewhere.

However, a flash of white hair caught his eye. The abnormal hair color drew his gaze to a couple of boys around his age dragging themselves through the crowds. Their long hair was wild, and their pale skin gave away who they were. The way they clumsily moved also gave him an idea of just how out-of-place they were. Only a tourist was so cumbersome moving through these crowds.

He picked his prey, now it was time to stalk. As they passed, not noticing him, he slid into place behind them, gazing ahead blankly to avoid attention. They seemed unaware of their blond stalker as they stumbled away from the main drag and up against a building. This was unexpected, but he drew closer, hearing some English words. He was right about them being foreigners. Not that he needed more proof.

Then, the slightly taller boy, the one with longer hair and bored eyes pulled up a small, lumpy bag. When the tanned stalker saw a combination of Euros and Pounds peak out of the bag, he instantly made a move. He threw himself forward, knowing that he could use strength against prey his own size. The boy was taken by surprise, and succumbed to his strike. He fell to the ground, and the tanned stalker easily retrieved the bag of money. Without hesitation, he turned and disappeared into the crowds once more.

He heard wailing in English, and he turned his gaze to see how quickly the boy recovered. He was on his feet and streaked towards him. The tanned boy felt fear.

Those eyes looked practically murderous. He had only seen such contempt in the eyes of angry shopkeepers whom he had stolen from. Shoving the fear down, he turned away and threw himself through the throngs of people, easily navigating between fat and thin.

His pursuer however, despite being a child, shoved his way angrily through the people. Their were screams of protest: "Watch where you're going, urchin!"

However, the boy did not watch where he was going. He threw himself past the adults of the crowd, growing ever closer to his robber. It was time to get serious, the tan boy reflected, as he picked up the pace and ran into an alley way.

The boy yelled in English, and while the tanned boy didn't understand him, he could get the jist of it by how poisonous the words were. They raced between the alleyways. Surely this boy would give up eventually? Weren't English-speakers supposed to be lazy? Perhaps the stories of large, unmotivated Americans were all fiction.

Nonetheless, he refused to give up the money he worked so hard to steal. He had to lose this stubborn pursuer and get on with his life. Another quick glance behind him showed that the English kid was right behind him. When they made eye contact, he spat more vicious words, his eyes glaring daggers. He was rather violent for a boy of presumably eight or nine. The tan boy swung his head back, knowing he couldn't give up the bag. Not now.

The chase went on, and he could feel the heat getting to him. If he was getting hot, then he could only imagine how the foreigner felt, especially with his long, thick, hair. When he glanced back again, the boy's face was red, and his brow glistened.

"Heh. Give it up, American Boy," he hissed.

His eyes narrowed, and suddenly he threw his entire body forward. This surprised the tan boy, and he felt the force of the other's body slam into his. He shielded the bag from his reaching hands and rolled with the impact. The two boys fell to the dusty ground and began scuffling.

The white-haired boy hit him in the shoulder with a balled up fist, while the tan boy yanked at his white locks. Finally he managed to kick his feet enough to get the other boy off of him, and he scooted backwards, but he ended up scooting into the wall of the alleyway they were in. On one side of them laid the opening to the market place, while the other side lead to a deep entanglement of alleyways. He would have to think carefully on his escape route.

The other boy rubbed his arm – where he had been kicked – and stood up. He looked pretty angry, and the tan boy had never seen such determination of someone his age.

More surprises were to come as well, for when the white-haired boy spoke again, he spoke in clumsy Arabic. "Money to me." He pointed at himself,

His accent was thick, but he understood him well enough. He secured the money between his interlocked hands and glared at the other. "No. It's mine now."

"Money to me." He repeated, somehow sounding even angrier than before. This time his hands were balled into fists.

The tan boy found it in him to stand up, though when he came to full height, he was grabbed harshly by the neckline of his shirt.

They glared at one another, though the tan boy refused to give up his prize. He hid the bag behind his back, and growled at the other, "_Ybn el-mitneka._" He rudely sneered, knowing that he would be in deep trouble if his father heard him use such a term. "Leave me alone, or you'll be sorry."

The other boy peeled his lip back, "You... you can not.. tell me that_._" His sentence was choppy, as if the words didn't flow naturally. This boy obviously knew a little bit of Arabic, but his ability to speak it was pathetic.

"I can say whatever I want to you. You can't even talk right." The tan boy shot back, unafraid of the position he was currently in.

The white-haired boy spat some things in his own language. "I do not, know Arabic. Now, money." This time, he kneed the boy in the gut. While it wasn't too forceful, it certainly took the breath of of him. The other boy used this opportunity to take back the bag, pulling it viciously from the tan boy's grasp and pushing him away. He took a few steps back and inspected what was inside, presumably making sure it was all there.

When he was satisfied, he turned away from the boy he had just wounded with seemingly little regret. The tan boy glared at the back of his head as he struggled to his feet. "You don't need that money."

The boy snorted but ignored him.

The Egyptian boy watched the other one, expecting him to leave, but he didn't. He just stared out at the crowd with a frustrated look. At first, he pondered if this boy even knew how to get back to wherever he had come from.

But then... he recalled that there was another boy who had looked very similar to this one, and he had stayed behind. His defeated frown arched up in a grin, and he shuffled closer to the white-haired boy.

"Missing someone?" He suggested. "We could make a trade."

He whipped around, "Where Ryou?"

The Egyptian shrugged. "I dunno who Ryou is, but I can help you find him."

The suggestion caused the other to look at him with suspicion. "No."

The tan boy shrugged again, "Good luck finding him, then. This town is big, and the marketplace too. It would take hours to find him..."

The white-haired boy seemed disgruntled at the realism of the words. His amber eyes glared sourly at the Egyptian. "Trust you?" He said in a questioning manner. "You stole I – my – money."

"And you got it back. But now I'm giving you a trade: I show you where your 'Ryou' is, and you give me something." The tan boy was unsure why he was going to such lengths. The money this boy had was hardly worth all the trouble, probably no more than ten or fifteen pounds. However, whilst the game dragged on, he didn't grow bored.

The white-haired boy turned away, gazing out at the crowd that had only grown since the chase between them had begun. His cool eyes were calculating, and it startled him how intelligent they seemed. It was like gazing into an eyes of an elder that had seen too much in their lifetime.

The white-haired boy finally nodded, giving in to the deal. "Okay." he paused, "No money... Ryou be found," he paused again, "Is found." He corrected himself.

The tan boy nodded in agreement. He pushed past the boy, to the entrance of the alley way. The two walked out into the crowded, hot bazaar. The other boy kept close, this time keeping his bag of money deep in his pocket.

"So, where are you from?" The tan boy found himself asking. "America? Europe?"

The white haired boy opened his mouth, and by the look of his face, probably to return with a scornful remark, but he stopped. He glared ahead for a moment, perhaps eternally conflicted, before simply replying. "London."

The tan boy's eyes widened and he turned to look at the other, "Wow? Really? You live in London? What's it like? Is it big?"

The other boy rolled his eyes. "Yes. It is big." He looked like he was struggling to go any further.

It was unfortunate his counterpart didn't speak good Arabic. "Have you seen the giant tower with the clock?"

"Big Ben?" The white-haired boy stared at him like he was an idiot. "Yes. Not so great. Boring."

"How could it be boring?" He couldn't fathom how anything could be more boring than the simple, small town he had lived in his whole life. He yearned for more, and now he had the opportunity to learn more.

"I live there. It is boring."

"Yeah, and I live here, and it's boring to me."

"Here," the white-haired boy gestured to all around them with gruff hand motions, "_is_ boring."

He had to agree. Good thing he wasn't the only one with that opinion. "If it's boring to you, why are you here?"

The pale boy scowled, presumably at all the questions the Egyptian boy was drilling him with, however, he was curious, and it wasn't every day he had a conversation with somebody that actually lived anywhere but his small home town.

"Father work... here." Was his simple answer.

"At the excavation site?" The tan boy pressed. The other nodded. "Man, guys are always coming here to dig. It's so easy to swipe their wallet, y'know." He gave the pale boy a knowing look. "Tourists are always stupid."

The reply he got was a vicious glare. The pale boy spat something in English, "_You caught me off guard,_" but the tan boy hadn't understood.

"I have no idea what you are saying when you speak English, you know. You may know some Arabic, but the only English word I know is '_shit_'."

Perhaps it was the fact the only English word he knew was a curse word, or maybe it was the accent in which he said it, but the other burst out in an immature snicker. The Egyptian boy grinned at his counterpart's reaction.

He composed himself quickly, however, and looked disgruntled. "What you know?"

The tan boy was puzzled by the question. It didn't make sense to him, but after thinking about it he asked, "You mean languages?"

The other nodded.

"I only know Arabic, and some French." His thoughts reeled as he tried to remember the few statements he knew. "_Le ciel est bleu_," he said with a thick accent. The sentence was practically butchered in his mouth.

The white-haired boy gave him a curious look.

"I said 'the sky is blue'," He shrugged pathetically. "I dunno much French. I told you."

A silence fell between them as he guided the English boy along.

"Where Ryou?" The other boy asked quickly, and the tan one sniggered inwardly at the bad grammar.

"Close. We are almost to where he last was." _Assuming this 'Ryou' hadn't left. _The boy might have attempted to chase after them and ended up getting lost somewhere.

"Who is Ryou?" He asked boredly. He figured the two were brothers, but he thought he'd ask for conversation's sake.

"I – _my – _brother." He replied with a scowl. "Why... question?"

He shrugged. "I'm bored. I don't get to talk to people from other places." His lavender eyes darted to the boy walking beside him. His white hair almost shimmered in the sun.

"Why?"

The tan boy smiled at the question, though not in a kind way, more in a begrudging way. He gestured to the area around them, "Everyone here is _from_ here. Nobody is from a cool place like Europe, or Japan, or even _America. _They are all from _here._ That makes them boring..., but not you."

The other boy shrugged. "London boring."

"It cannot be worse than here."

The other one grinned slightly at the comment. It wasn't entirely unkind, but there was something odd about it.

By now, he knew that they were close. As they pushed through the crowd, a scared looking boy looking strikingly similar to his companion sat on the ground, leaning against a building. He looked very troubled and was fiddling with his hands and the bottom hem of his shirt. When the two came into view, he jumped up.

"Bakura! You're here!" He shouted in English, to which the tan boy could not understand. As they approached the boy, he hung back, allowing the two to speak in their native tongue. He tried to identify the words, but it all sounded like gibberish and nonsense. He did, however, pick up the word 'Bakura' a few times, which seemed to be directed to the boy. Perhaps that was his name?

Then, the white-haired boy turned back to him, pulling up the bag. He gruffly took out some pounds and held them out for the tan boy to take.

He held up his hands, "That's alright. You keep it."

The other boy gaped at him, giving him a ridiculous _'are you serious' _look.

He shrugged. "I do not need it." A lie. He began stepping away, but before he completely disappeared, he gave the other boy a genuine smile. "My name's Marik by the way. I hope I see you again." And with that he turned and hurried into the throng of people, walking a bit faster than he intended.

* * *

**I really, _really _love language barriers. That will be a main theme in this fic.**

**Bakura failing to speak properly is the funniest thing to me.**


End file.
